


Of hallahearted elves and Tevinter pariahs

by owlickz



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff, M/M, wyn lavellan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 09:21:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3169649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlickz/pseuds/owlickz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian chuckled, “Sleep,” he ordered, “You’ve done enough for one day.” The elf nodded slowly, his eyes finally slipping shut and breaths evening out. Dorian watched the steady rise and fall of his chest for a while, resisting the urge to brush the man’s unbound hair from his forehead. Dorian felt a wave of affection wash over him and quickly crushed it; what was he doing? The mage scrubbed a hand tiredly across his forehead, “I cannot let this happen.” He muttered to himself, standing suddenly as he was determined to put as much distance as possible between himself and the elf, and headed out of the tent.</p>
<p>In which Dorian fails, and comes to terms with his feeling for Wyn Lavellan and their blossoming relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of hallahearted elves and Tevinter pariahs

**Author's Note:**

> this game is ruining my life

If Dorian knew less, he would be flabbergasted that this innocent Dalish elf was the head of the largest armed power in Thedas as of that moment. Wyn Lavellan could only be described as halla-hearted; sharing a kind and gentle nature with the animals held sacred by his people. It had only taken looking into those large blue innocent eyes for Dorian to, dare he admit, fall in love. The rogue had not been wary of him though as Dorian had initially feared due to Tevinter’s reputation with elves in particular, but rather approached him almost immediately after their little adventure in the future.

The elf had asked all sorts of questions, giving the Altus time to appreciate his features.

Chestnut colored hair was bound up in an intricate series of braids, then it all bound together in a bun. Wyn’s skin was as dark as his own, but the color was richer and warmer in contrast. Tattooed lines danced from his forehead down to around his cheeks, and a separate series of lines started at his bottom lip and lead down his chin to his throat where more lines branched off and curved gracefully around the neck. The man was stunning to say the least, blushing prettily when Dorian flirted with him during conversation. Wyn had made awkward attempts to flirt back, obviously his knowledge of human customs was lacking in such matters. Never the less, the mage found it endearing.

“Dorian, are the forest in Tevinter the same as here?” Wyn inquired one day as they, along with Cassandra and Solas, were tending some task or another in the Hinterlands. The mage found he enjoyed the sound of his name in the Dalish elf’s accent. Dorian had queried about it one day, wondering if it was a shared accent among the Dalish, or just Clan Lavellan. “Oh, each Clan sounds a bit different,” Wyn had explained, “We’re always separated, so customs and other things tend to evolve differently.” It was not until they encountered another clan of Dalish later did Dorian truly understand what Wyn had meant.

Dorian raised one eyebrow, “I wouldn’t know anything about the woods,” he answered, “I spent practically my whole life in the cities.” He explained, “Why do you ask?” The archer looked a little embarrassed, turning his gaze away from the mage, “Well, my Clan only traveled around the Free Marches, and once came to Ferelden, so I haven’t seen much of the world.” The elf admitted, “I just wonder sometimes how different things are other places.” Dorian chuckled, “Ah well, I’m afraid I can’t help you, but I imagine the forests in Tevinter are much more humid and hotter than here, perhaps more like jungles.” Wyn brightened, “Really? That’d be something to see.” He flashed a bright smile to Dorian, and received one in return.

The archer’s kind nature and bright mood was infectious, and even their sour Seeker’s mood seemed to lighten when the elf was present. It was not until the attack on Haven had Dorian seen something close to anger from Wyn. The battle was terrifying, but they lost few –- Wyn was sure to rescue all they came across. When it was decided that Wyn would distract the dragon so everyone else could escape, the elf asked if he would come. “It’s dangerous and insane, and I would not fault you for staying where it’s safer.” Wyn had told him, rubbing his hands together worrisomely. The Altus scoffed, “And miss out on the chance to battle an Archdemon? Perish the thought.” He replied with a dramatic wave of his hand, “Now let’s gather the Seeker and The Bull and show them what we’re made of, eh?” A laugh bubbled out from the elf’s lips and it was one of the most beautiful sounds Dorian had ever heard. “Of course, let us get ready then.”

When that final blast separated Wyn from the rest of the group, Dorian felt true terror cold in his gut. His ears were still ringing from when that damned dragon landed, but Cassandra was yanking him up quickly, giving him not time to recover, as The Iron Bull slashed through enemies that got close. The mage watched at that _creature_ lifted Wyn into the air, saying something he could not quite figure out as the archer struggle against his grip. “Dorian!” the Seeker shouted, “We need to go!”

The man looked at her, eyes wide with fear and disbelief, “But Wyn! What about him?!” Cassandra gave him a defeated look, her posture slouching, “There is nothing we can do,” her voice cracked, “He would not want us to die meaninglessly.” Meaninglessly? The Herald of Andraste’s life meant more than any of theirs – Dorian wanted to throttle her. He did not get the chance however as the Qunari grabbed him up over his shoulder and carried him away from the battle, the Seeker hot on his heels. Dorian could only stare in horror as Wyn was tossed like a doll against the side of the trebuchet, clutching at his chest as the monster stalked toward him with malicious intent.

The mage watched as Wyn scrambled to grab a sword, holding it in front of himself in a last attempt of defense. The creature looked amused for a moment, but expression turned once more to anger as the elf kicked the chain of the trebuchet, sending the bolder it was holding flinging into the mountains above. The Qunari turned a corner, leaving the last thing Dorian saw was Wyn running from the avalanche behind him.

The Bull eventually put him down once they were a safe distance away. The three look at one another, an uncomfortable silencing hanging between them. “We should…try to find the others.” Cassandra finally said, “I saw the flare go up -– they all made it out safely.” The Qunari grunted in agreement, and Dorian remained silent but gave a nod off affirmation. They trekked through the mountain pass, following the footsteps left in the snow by their fleeing comrades. The camp came into view after a while, fire light bouncing off the mountain walls that surrounded it. A patrol, led by Cullen greeted them. “Maker’s breath!” he former templar exclaimed, “You’re alright!” The blonde man gave them an once-over before twisting around to try and find someone who was not there. “Where’s the Herald…?” Cassandra’s pained look was quickly masked by steel, “We were cut off from him by the dragon. The creature cornered him, but he was able to release the last trebuchet and cause an avalanche.” She explained, her hands balled into fist, “We did not see what became of him after that, but the creature and dragon fled the field.”

Cullen frowned down at his feet, “Ah…I see.” He let out a long sigh, “Perhaps, he found a way to make it out.” Dorian had had enough, pushing passed the commander and his soldiers and heading into camp. He was tired and his heart felt heavy in his chest –- all he wanted to do was try to find an answer at the bottom of a bottle and sleep; the latter on seeming the only wise thing to do at this point. A solemn gloom encased the camp, the people seeming to either be having a breakdown or using menial tasks and chores to keep their minds busy and bodies warm. They all ignored him as he passed, to engrossed in their own misery and fear. Dorian finally found an empty cot and all but threw himself onto it. He curled up under a thin itchy blanket as exhaustion finally won out and sent him into the Fade.

Sometime later he was awakened by shouts, his body tensing in anticipation –- as he was almost certain they were under attack. He practically leapt off the cot and grabbed for his staff, hurrying out into the main area of the camp. He heart seized in his chest as he saw Cullen carrying a body, wrapping the furred coat the commander wore over his armor. They pushed past him, Cassandra following Cullen closely. “Is that…?” Dorian tried, finding the words caught in his throat. The Seeker stopped, looking at him over her shoulder, “Yes,” she breathed, her expression flooded with relief, “He’s okay -– if only just cold and exhausted. How he did it, I do not know.” Dorian felt a small smile grace his lips, “It’s seems our Herald has a knack for achieving the impossible.” Cassandra’s face soften, giving him something as close to a smile as Dorian suspected she was capable of, “Yes. He does.” The Seeker then hurried after Cullen, ducking into the tent they had brought Wyn to.

Later that night, Dorian found his feet leading him toward where Why lie. Upon entering the tent, he saw the elf was conscious, looking around at canvas walls in confusion. His eyes met Dorian’s, drawing a small smile to the elf’s lips, “You’re okay. I was so worried.” He croaked, wincing at the sound of his own voice. Dorian scoffed, “You’re hopeless,” he declared, striding over to sit on the crate next to Wyn’s cot, “Worrying about everyone else when you stared down an Archdemon and, apparently, one of the Tevinter magisters who invaded the Black City.” Wyn’s expression was guilty, but Dorian waved away the apology that he knew was to follow that look, “Don’t you dare apologize.” The mage interrupted, “You were not the one who neither attacked Haven, nor are the one who blew it up in the first place. I will not hear an apology, oh Lord Herald.”

Wyn gave him a tired smile, “Okay.” He slurred, his eyes beginning to droop. Dorian chuckled, “Sleep,” he ordered, “You’ve done enough for one day.” The elf nodded slowly, his eyes finally slipping shut and breaths evening out. Dorian watched the steady rise and fall of his chest for a while, resisting the urge to brush the man’s unbound hair from his forehead. Dorian felt a wave of affection wash over him and quickly crushed it; what was he doing? The mage scrubbed a hand tiredly across his forehead, “I cannot let this happen.” He muttered to himself, standing suddenly as he was determined to put as much distance as possible between himself and the elf, and headed out of the tent.

\----

Skyhold was an amazing find indeed.

Such a marvelous structure, and the fact it had been lost for so long was a crime in itself. The mage made himself comfortable in the library most days, if he was not on some ridiculous and impossible quest with the newly named Inquisitor. The elf still came by to visit, even if it was just to read and enjoy silent companionship. He still asked questions; oh yes, so many question. Dorian could not stop himself from flirting with the elf, relishing in each pretty blush that bloomed on Wyn’s cheeks and sometimes stretched to the tips of his pointed ears. Everything was going swimmingly, that is until Wyn delivered the note sent to Mother Giselle from his father. Rage boiled with in him, but the elf did not judge him for his behavior –- not even upset when he snapped at him for no reason, another thing he found endearing and infuriating about the archer. The man did not have a mean bone in his body.

They traveled to Redcliff to meet the retainer the Pavus family had sent. The whole trip was tense and Dorian uncharacteristically silent, but Wyn did not say a word -- to which he was grateful for. Upon reaching the tavern and it being revealed that his father was the one meet them and not some stranger; Dorian’s mood took an even darker turn. He spat and hissed, while his father said nothing –- not that he exactly gave him the chance to speak.

“I prefer the company of men, my father disapproves.” Dorian explained, his lips curling into a sneer. Wyn tilted his head, a gesture Dorian would have found endearing had he not been so furious. “Company of men?” the archer echoed. Dorian scowled, “Did it stutter? Men and the company there of, as in sex. Surely you’ve heard of it?” he snapped, causing Wyn to flinch from sharpness of his tone and immediately regretting it. “I’ve…more then heard of it, actually.” The elf eventually admitted in a soft voice, rubbing his hands together nervously. “Nooo,” the mage exclaimed dramatically, sarcasm dripping from his voice, “The Herald of Andraste! I am shocked and scandalized.”

Wyn shifted slightly and frowned at him, “Such sarcasm.” He grumbled, crossing his arms across his chest. Dorian rolled his eyes, “You’re not exactly subtle, _oh Lord Inquisitor_.” The elf’s cheeks flush and he quickly turned his head to look away. A loud intake of breath reminded the two they were not alone in the room, “Ah, I should have known this is what this was about.” The Magister declared, his tone full of disapproval. “No,” the younger Pavus shot back and quickly rising to Wyn’s defense, “You don’t get to make those assumptions. You _nothing_ about the Inquisitor!”

“That’s a…big concern in Tevinter, then? Who you sleep with” Wyn piped up once more, after a moment of silence. “Only if you’re trying to live up to an impossible standard.” Dorian retorted, “Every Tevinter family is intermarrying to distill the perfect mage -– perfect body, perfect mind; _the perfect leader_.” He explained, grinding out the last bit. “It means,” the mage went on, “Every perceived flaw, every aberration is deviant and shameful. It must be hidden.” He ended, turning his head to glare at his father once more. The older man’s eyes were full of shame and guilt, and could not hold Dorian’s gaze -– choosing instead to look down at his clasped hands.

“This…is not what I wanted.” His father eventually said. “I’m never what you wanted, father,” Dorian refuted, cutting him off before he could go on, “Or had you forgotten that?” He felt a hand on his shoulder, realizing after a moment is was Wyn, and wondering when the elf had gotten so close, “Your father might be trying to reach out.” The elf encouraged, “You could give him a chance.” His voice was soft, full of empathy and compassion -- and Dorian did not know whether to kiss or punch him. “Let’s just go.” The mage decided; his tightly controlled emotions were beginning to slip loose from his grasp; he needed to get out of there. “Dorian please,” his father begged, “If you’ll only listen to me!”

Dorian ignored his pleas, “Why?” he demanded, “So you can spout more convenient lies? He taught me to hate blood magic,” Dorian suddenly found himself in his father’s personal space and was unsure how it had happen but it did not deter him, “ _‘The resort of a weak mind.’_ Those are _his_ words. But what was the first thing you did when your precious heir refused to play pretend for the rest of his life?” the strength in his voice broke, “You tried to… _change_ me.” Wyn let out a quiet gasp from near the door, but stayed silent. “I only wanted what was best for you.” His father defended weakly. Dorian wheeled on him, jabbing a finger into the older man’s chest, “You wanted to best for you! _Your fucking legacy_ –- anything for that.” the mage spat from between clenched teeth. Dorian turned away from the Magister and walked over to lean on a nearby table, shoulders sagging in defeated.

He stared down at the wooden surface as Wyn came to stand beside him. The elf’s presence was comforting, but he felt humiliated that the object of his affections had witness such a display from him. “Don’t leave it like this Dorian,” the man said in a quiet voice, “You’ll never forgive yourself.” The mage looked up, meeting Wyn’s eyes for a moment before turning back to his father, “Tell me why you came.”

“If I knew I would drive you to the Inquisition – ” but Dorian cut him off once more, “You didn’t! I joined the Inquisition because it’s the right thing to do.” He sighed heavily, “Once, I had a father who would’ve known that.” The older Pavus looked away, guilt and grief wracking his posture. Dorian turned on heel, Wyn suddenly at his side as they head toward the door –- his heart heavy and aching.

“Once, I had a son who trusted me. A trust I betrayed.”

Dorian paused, his hand resting on the door handle. “I only wanted to talk to him – to hear his voice again, to ask him to forgive me.” The mage turned slowly, looking at his father with a small glimmer of hope in his eyes. He glanced to Wyn, seeing a small smile on the archer’s lips. The elf gave him a nod and walked toward the tavern door, “I’ll be outside.” He informed quietly as he left, giving them some privacy.

The trip back to Skyhold was less tense, but still full of silence. Wyn did not pry, which was something Dorian was most thankful for once again. The mage dismounted his horse, watching Wyn stroke his Hart’s muzzle and hand it off to the Horsemaster. Dorian led his mount, planning on doing the same, but the elf stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder, “If you need to talk…” he trailed off, blue eyes bright and earnest. Dorian nodded, reaching up to place a hand a top the other man’s and squeezed it lightly, “Come by the library later.” Wyn bit his bottom lip and nodded, gliding away.

\----

Later came before Dorian realized, as he spent most of his time since they got back staring out the window in his nook. He heard Wyn approaching, the rogue seeming have forgone stealth, as the gentle patter of bare feet on stone got louder. “He says we’re alike; too much pride.” Dorian began, leaning against the sill of the window, gaze trained on the scenery outside. “Once I would have been overjoyed to hear him say that.” The mage admitted bitterly, “Now I’m not certain.” He paused, “I don’t know if I can forgive him.”

“He tried…he tried to change you?” The elf’s voice was soft, but horror and disbelief filled it. “Out of desperation,” Dorian explained, “I wouldn’t put on a show, marry the girl -– keep everything unsavory and private locked away.” Dorian let out a weighty sigh, still afraid to look at the man behind him. “Selfish, I suppose, not to want to spend my entire life _screaming_ on the inside.” He heard Wyn move closer; a glance behind him revealing the elf had taken a seat on the table where he did his research. “He was going to do a blood ritual,” Dorian explained, “Alter my mind, make me… _acceptable_. I found out, I left.” Shame and embarrassment clenched painfully in his stomach. Surely Wyn would not want him now, not after seeing all the baggage he carried.

“Can blood magic actually do that?” the elf’s voice was small, fearful. “Maybe,” the mage replied, his voice almost gentle -– whether to try and reassure Wyn or himself, he did not know. “It could also have left me a drooling vegetable.” He remarked, trying to lighten the heaviness of the mood. His shoulders sagged as he gave a long sigh, “It crushed me to think he found that absurd risk preferable to scandal. Part of me has always hoped he didn’t really want to go through with it, if he had I can’t even imagine person I would be now.” He looked over his shoulder once more, catching Wyn’s gaze, “I wouldn’t like that Dorian.”

There was a second of silence, the sound of shuffling papers as Wyn shifted in his seat, “Are you alright?” the elf inquired, his voice full of sincerity. Dorian held in a snort, “No, not really.” he replied, finally turning to fully look at the elf, “Thank you for bringing me out there. It wasn’t what I expected…but, it’s something.” It was now or never; he had to ask –- had to know what the other thought of him. “Maker knows what you must think of me now, after that whole display.” his voice was a lot calmer then how he actually felt. Wyn stood up, walking closer to him, “I don’t think less of you,” he stated, a small smile on his lips, “More, if possible.” He admitted, his hands wringing together nervously, as was his habit. The mage felt his heart flutter at the admission, “The things you say…” Wyn’s smile grew, “I mean it.”

Dorian found himself smiling back, even if it was small, “My father never understood -– living a lie, it festers inside of you like poison.” He furrowed his brow, “You have to fight for what’s in your heart.” He stated, his voice filled with determination. “I agree.” The other man replied, moving ever closer. Wyn stared up at him with those big blue eyes, and Dorian stared back, searching for consent. The elf’s lips quirked, his eyes shining impishly as he suddenly leaned up, connecting his lips to Dorian’s in a clumsy kiss. The mage chuckled, one of his hands coming up to rest on the elf’s shoulders as their lips moved together. They eventually pull apart, hot puffs of breath ghosting each other’s faces. “I see you enjoy playing with fire Inquisitor.” Dorian teased, watching Wyn’s cheeks flush with great pleasure.

“At any rate, time to drink myself into a stupor; it’s been that sort of day.” Concern lit up in Wyn’s eyes, but Dorian waved it away, “Come join me some time, if you’ve a mind.” He invited. Wyn titled his head, “I haven’t had much experience with shem alcohol,” he admitted, “But I would like that.” Dorian grinned, “Ah, I have much to show you then, and perhaps one day you could introduce me to some Dalish brews.” He insisted, inciting a small laugh from Wyn, “Whatever you want.” The smaller man agreed.

The mage found himself reaching out, grabbing the elf’s hand a bringing it to his lips. “Thank you so much,” he whispered against callus hardened finger tips, “For everything.” Wyn moved his hand, cupping the mage’s cheek, “You don’t have to thank me.” Wyn told him softly, “I would have helped you no matter what.” Dorian snorted, leaning into the elf’s palm, “Yes, I am well aware of how unbearably selfless and considerate you are.” He retorted, rolling his eyes. “But regardless, thank you.”

Wyn grinned, “Anytime.” He replied, leaning up to kiss Dorian once more.


End file.
